


Just another day on the job.

by PhakeFysics



Series: FH Scifi AU [3]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: Depictions of Death, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 07:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20503259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhakeFysics/pseuds/PhakeFysics





	Just another day on the job.

Usually by now, the comforting lilt of your handler in your ear would be telling you the mission parameters. By now, you’d listen, smile and retort with some witticism that would make them groan and tell you to focus on the mission before going silent. But now you were alone… left to your own devices. You knew your mission, of course, but you were alone in more ways than one. No outside eyes, no backup. 

It makes you pause as you peek out from the ceiling vent, scanning the room. _No backup._ You don’t like the idea, but then again… you had never needed it, and you knew you were built to be one of the best. And German technology, even today, was nothing to be trifled with. You were confident in your cybernetics, magic, and overall training. Just another day on the job.

Carefully, you lower yourself to hang from the vent, dropping down with a silent grace as you fluidly crouch down, carrying the momentum to the floor with nary a sound. Your helmet’s HUD flickers to night vision, making the dark compound easier to traverse. Luckily your suit was updated and refitted before the exodus, as well as new upgrades to your optics. Sometimes you thought it’d be cool to have glowing optic implants like other people. Like that one kid… Kenneth… Konrad… Keanon… Fuck it, you could place the face, not the name. 

Regardless, no flashing lights, no reflective surfaces. Everything on your was matte and dull, yet your suit had this odd shifting finish to it that allowed you to blend into dark corners and meld with shadows. You maneuvered through the facility, mostly dodging guards or patrols with a practiced and fluid grace, slipping under cameras, gliding past sensors. This was easy… too easy. 

You had to press against a shallow alcove, waiting for two guards to pass and you swear, _ you swear_, you saw the nearest one glance your way for the briefest moment, yet keep walking. You gut wrenches tightly, the panic of miscalculations setting in as your mind begins to produce adrenaline, yet your heart is synthetic and forces itself to keep steady. Your mind fights with your body for a brief, delirious moment and you bite your tongue, still firmly pressed against the wall. They knew you were here all this time. It’s a trap. They’re luring you into a trap. 

No, you needed to abort. Report back to the rest of the crew that the codex was not worth it. The paranoia sits in your body, your muscles tensing for a brief panic-induced moment as you stay silent and still. _No_. Your mind is defiant. You need that codex - No… Germany needs that Codex. If nothing else, they’ve programmed loyalty as well as stubbornness into you quite strongly. 

You could do this. You would do this. 

The route takes longer as you have to rethink your plan of attack now. Placing your hands against the wall, you climb against the sheer surface and then hoist yourself onto the ceiling. They never think to look up. Your internal sensors re calibrate and your up is now your down and you effortlessly crawl along the ceiling, right above a guard standing motionless next to the door you need. You carefully crawl down just above him and release a hand from the wall to conjure an ethereal blade. It seemed to pull from the shadows itself, your body no longer feeling the painful drain of being a Weaver - considering most of you was cybernetic - and you bring it down and stab him expertly in the jugular. The blade disappears and he gurgles and drowns in his own blood, falling to the floor - dead before he even hits it.

Hopping down, you give the hallway a quick scan before grabbing his hand for the scanner and the key card in his pocket. The door unlocks and you slip in. The codex… The crew needed it to unlock certain secrets of the Ancients. But of course you would send a copy to your primary loyalties. 

The codex sat under typical security measures; easily out maneuvered and overridden. Either it was too easy, or the fact that this was out on the far rim left it without top of the line security, you couldn’t say for sure. The point is; the Codex was yours and you were going to get out… if you could.

It was smaller than you imagined, but that was good as you could store it easily in the small pouch strapped to your thigh, keeping it secure as you made your escape. 

It was easy… until you got back to the Courtyard; the last hurdle before your evac zone. And they were waiting. Flood lights lit the entire area up, momentarily blinding you - but more importantly revealing you to the fifty or so armed and armored guards. Panic floods your system, your mind and body finally agreeing on administering the adrenaline and you run, dodging the hail of bullets. They go after you and all you can do is use your Weaver abilities to project and warp their perceptions of your actual location. You run as fast as you can, being forced to skirt the edge of the large Courtyard. Your HUD shows you the distance to the evac zone. It’s too far. 

You feel a sting and you cry out, stumbling and crashing to your knees. You try to get back up but a rifle butt slams the back of your helmet, jostling you as you’re forced back down. A boot against your back. Guns pointed at you. Lights flooding the scene.

Your suit says there’s a breach somewhere. But all you think is how furious you are. How did they know? Who sold you out? The boot, the guns, and the lights all fly away - an explosion and you’re ground zero. Your HUD blares the warning of overexertion. Your cybernetics weren’t made to handle Weaver Overcharges. At least not at a near constant. One overcharge could cost the government the same price as a small third world country in currency. But You were worth every penny, and you knew it.

Picking yourself up, you survey the wreckage - it looked like a bomb was dropped on the courtyard. Charred corpses, in the outfield, nothing but smeared shadows in your immediate vicinity. You hum and check the codex is still there, a hand idly going to nurse your side as you slowly hobble to the evac zone. You light the signal and take a heavy, labored sit on a nearby rock and wait. 

This thing better be worth the trouble.


End file.
